


Reward

by orphan_account



Category: Critical Role (Web Series) RPF
Genre: First Time Anal Play, Masturbation, Other, Prostate Massagers, Voice Kink, bathtub masturbation, because trav sure is having some thoughts about fjord's patron, realistically disappointing anal at first and unrealistically fantastic anal towards the end, tentacles?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He's never actually...you know. Had anything in there. But he knows the concept. Patience. Lube. A whole lot of not expecting too much.See, Travis isn't too good at this delayed gratification thing.(Originally posted to Criticalkink April 7th 2019.)
Relationships: (IMPLIED), Matthew Mercer/Travis Willingham
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Reward

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to [this prompt](http://www.criticalkink.dreamwidth.org3385.html?thread=1009977#cmt1009977) at Criticalkink.
> 
> I was asked to not delete, but rather orphan, my fics. If you know who I am, please refrain from spreading that information.

Being alone in the house is just weird now. When Laura told him about her plans initially, Travis had been kind of excited to have some time by himself, maybe even hang out with someone he hasn’t seen in a while. Instead, he just feels weird about it. Everyone he’s called has been busy, the trash has been taken out, he’s done the laundry, vacuumed, watered the plants, even wiped the fucking dust out from the back of the cutlery draw and fixed every hiccuping appliance he could remember. If that doesn’t gain him some husband points, he doesn’t know what does.

Still, he feels sort of restless and out of place just sitting there alone. Even video games don't seem to screatch the itch. Maybe he should take a bath. One thing every parent can confirm is the complete reliance on quick showers, and the tub has just been kind of sitting there.

On his way through the bathroom cabinets, on the lookout for any hidden-away epsom salts and a soft towel, he stumbles upon a little basket of far less appropriate supplies, hanging out on the top shelf in the cabinet by the mirror. _Laura’s supplies_, he might add. Squeaky clean and not used in a long, long time. Some of this shit is still in its packaging, dammit. Some he recognises, some he doesn’t. There’s even little bottles of that expensive lube in there, the one that costs double and doesn’t dissolve in water.

Oh no, now his curiosity is piqued. He picks up a small, sleek-looking dildo.

At first, he sort if regrets picking up the toy at all. He knows it's bath safe, knows it's been boiled and sterilized, knows that he would need the fancy lube to get this going; to get it inside himself. It's slimmer than a regular dildo, thankfully. Much shorter, too, and feels very solid in its construction.

Travis doesn't know exactly where the prostate is located, but he knows it's supposed to feel amazing to have it stimulated. From one memorable occasion, when life was just normal-busy and their friend group started falling into bed with each other, Travis remembers Laura asking him if he'd be down for a threesome. And he's said _okay, sure, who's on your wish list?_ And Laura had said Taliesin, and Travis had just nodded. _Yes._ The road from that evening to the one where he was introduced to the magical power of the prostate was paved with trying, failing, and some of the best sex of his entire life. But that was always the giving end. 

He's never actually...you know. Had anything in there. But he knows the concept. Patience. Lube. A whole lot of not expecting too much.

See, Travis isn't too good at this delayed gratification thing.

He ends up running himself a nice bath, just the right temperature, and lighting a couple candles. For the mood, you know? And then he sits and stares at the thing that's going up his ass for a good, long while.

“Okay,” he tells the toy after a couple minutes, squirting a fair dollop of lubricant out onto it. “Let's fuckin' do this.”

A drop rolls off the slightly crooked head of it and into the bathwater, and suddenly, the humble toy looks very, very large.

“Oh, fuck. That's right. Fingers first.”

His hands are still plenty slick, even under the water, and he quickly musters up the courage to gently insert the tip of a digit into himself. It doesn't feel good, not really, but it doesn't feel bad either. The ring of puckered muscle is sensitive in the inside, more so than he expected, and every time he makes a movement that brushes across it, it sends pleasant tingles down his spine.

The way his brain works might make him easily distractible, but it also lets him focus deeply on a task at hand, and the next time he is aware of his own thoughts, his breathing is quicker; shallower, and he's moving two fingers in and out of himself with relative ease.

“Oh, fuck, okay-...”

He understands some of it now. There's something about this, this venturing into the more taboo of places, even when he's just using his fingers. Will it feel better once he gets to the toy? Will it hurt? He tentatively inserts a third finger, and the way it hurts just a little mostly just feels good. That tense, awkward feeling he had to begin with is no longer there. In its wake is a deep feeling of need, starting to blossom deep in his abdomen, deeper than it usually sits. Hungrier.

The thing is, though. The thing is, he's still not all that hard. Intrigued, yes, very much turned on, but his dick is surprisingly soft. Maybe a semi at most, that jumps to attention every now and again when he gets a particularly good thrust in; when he brushes up just far enough to catch what must be a hint at what's to come.

Travis gives his mostly disinterested dick a stern look. “Damn it, man. Work with me here.”

He tries to imagine the last time he tried something new in bed with Laura, her riding him with his hands cuffed to the headboard. Basic exploration shit, really, but that didn't matter as long as it was with her. Laura's always fun.

Even that doesn't give him to write home about, because she's not actually there. If anything, it just makes him miss holding Laura close, and the fingers inside him feel kind of uncomfortable now that most of the lube has been exhausted.

“Oh, come on.”

That needy feeling inside him is still there, though, building, and he has a sneaking suspicion that this is where the patience comes into play. More lube. Another try. He has to be in it for all the inconveniences if he wants the eventual reward.

_Reward._

Maybe his weird warlock patron has a point. Neither Fjord nor Travis have ever been good at waiting for things down the line. Should he even be thinking of the game while he's doing this? Probably not. Then again, he's aware of what the internet thinks of big, powerful, monstrous creatures with probable tentacles. And damn it all to hell, that voice Matt puts on doesn't exactly make it easier, either. More than a few times, Travis has walked out from those sessions feeling completely different from when he walked in. Calmer, like maybe he'd let Matt say anything, do anything to him if he wanted to. Slightly horny, sometimes, but for those he mostly blames his wife’s inability to stop flirting with him by proxy. That’s got nothing to do with how good at being this sexy monstrous underwater demigod Matt is, or the way he can almost feel his surroundings whenever Fjord has one of his wet dreams.

His hand is around his cock, now -- when did he move it? -- and finally he's approaching full mast.

_Are fantasy tentacles really what's doing it for me?_ Travis thinks, and then he thinks he better put that toy inside himself real fast, because the way he's clenching down on his fingers feels like he's trying to pull them in further than they can reasonably go from this angle.

_Fuck._

Is it weird that he really gets off on the thought of this being just another dream of Fjord's? Flushed and panting, his patron's voice in his head, smug. Travis imagines tight, slippery coils holding him; restraining him; probing at him. Making him feel small. Fragile; a tool.

The toy finally hits home, and Travis has never felt anything like it. In his head, it's this creature, and Matt's voice, and something slick and strong and inhuman making its way into him to caress his prostate. To claim him.

It's over so quickly, but the orgasm is not. When he comes, his hands move almost on autopilot, thrusting harder, faster, more, slamming into the sensitive, swollen flesh again and again. His eyes roll back hard in their sockets, and he arches up out of the water involuntarily, rivulets of his own come adorning his abdomen in little puddles. He's never come so much, or so hard, and as he keeps pushing that toy where he knows it feels good, small streams trickle out of him even as he whimpers and curses his way through the aftershocks.

“F-fuck. Fuuuuuck.”

_Reward._

So, okay. He gets it now. And Laura is never, ever getting that toy back.


End file.
